


Grounded

by ElectronicFerret



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: F/F, I REGRET NOTHING, NSFW, pearlmethyst - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 21:45:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5349677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElectronicFerret/pseuds/ElectronicFerret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amethyst challenges Pearl, and Pearl challenges her back, and together they push and build across the chasm between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grounded

* * *

 

There’s a word that the humans have for being connected to the earth. _Grounded_.

Amethyst likes it. _Grounded._ She feels it, most of the time; she feels solid, exactly like she should be. The rhythm of the earth has a beat that resonates within her. She can’t help but dance to it. She knows who she is, she knows what she wants, and she can move through the peoples of the earth and enjoy everything their societies have to offer without losing herself along the way. She feels grounded.

But she doesn’t feel that way all the time.

Sometimes Amethyst feels so heavy she can barely move, certainly can’t dance. The weight of the Kindergarten drags her back into her hole, and she curls up and hides until she can make herself pick up the burden and drag it around again. And sometimes, the problem is the opposite; she feels so light it’s like a breeze could carry her away and she can’t control the direction she’s flying in, careening towards the unknown. It makes her head spin and her heart race and she can’t breathe. She wants to scream and fight until the noise brings her back down to earth.

On days where she isn’t feeling grounded, she’s resentful, snippy, harsh. Amethyst knows it, but she can’t stop it, doesn’t want to stop it; she wants to vent the poison until it’s gone and she can feel like herself again. The only ones around long enough for her to really vent to are Pearl and Garnet  ~~and Rose~~. Sometimes she gets even mad at the humans, but it never lasts. They’re not worth getting mad at for more than a few hours. Sometimes her highs and lows can last for decades. They don’t have the time to waste; Gems do.

Pearl is, naturally, the most satisfying to needle. She’s fun and loud; prim and proper and righteously angry anytime Amethyst does something particularly offensive. She _reacts_ and it’s hilarious, undignified, real.

It wasn’t always like it is now, of course. Pearl and Amethyst used to get along more often than not, and when Amethyst was upset or angry, there was always someone there, patient and kind, to soothe her ruffled feathers and bring her home when she was ready. But then suddenly it was just the three (four) of them, plus Steven and Greg, and Pearl was just as untethered, just as _lost_ , and no one was there to pull Amethyst back up from the depths, back down to earth. The arguments turned bitter and angry and resentful and neither of them could solve it.

But she doesn’t feel that way all the time, either. Steven’s life is short. They don’t have decades to resolve their tensions. Now, they try harder to reach each other, instead of letting time solve their problems for them.

Sometimes Amethyst makes trouble just to elicit a reaction, to get the lost attention back that she craves so desperately, and they all know it. Sometimes Pearl’s squawks and complaints are familiar but not bitter. Sometimes Amethyst’s taunting gets a knowing smirk in response, or even a clever, well-timed riposte. She challenges Pearl, and Pearl challenges her back, and together they push and build across the chasm between them and they can finally reach each other. And then Amethyst feels grounded again.

And to hear Pearl laugh or scold, to hear her be ungainly and undignified and genuine -- Amethyst thinks it might be good for Pearl, too. Pearl is light and wispy and ethereal, and sometimes Amethyst is afraid she’s going to disappear. She needs to yell, fight, to feel Pearl in her arms; to know she is real and _there_ and isn’t lost to them all.

 

* * *

 

Amethyst’s room is a mess. This time, though, Pearl doesn’t object when the purple Gem eagerly drags her through it by one hand, and the place they reach actually isn’t that bad -- it’s not dirty, it doesn’t smell, and if it’s more than a little haphazard, it’s at least recognizable as a bed.

Or most of one, anyways -- it’s a giant, thick mattress and a dozen pillows and at least that many blankets thrown overtop of each other in a riot of colours and textiles. They’re from different earth cultures Amethyst has visited over the years, and the bedside tables and lamps cluttered around are just as varied. There’s a four-poster canopy set at a different angle than the mattress. There’s no pattern to the pile except that of whimsy. But it’s comfortable and clean, and it’s one of the only places within her room that she’s guaranteed to get Pearl to sit down for more than two seconds.

Amethyst’s smile is predatory, and when Pearl settles back onto the bed and Amethyst starts crawling her way up towards her on the mattress, her anticipation is so greedy that she doesn’t notice the mischievous glint in Pearl’s eyes. She doesn’t notice the calculated way Pearl lists to one side, to encourage Amethyst towards the other as she moves up the mattress. She doesn’t notice how the lean, lanky Gem twists a hand into the blanket, settles her feet like she was preparing for a pounce.

She definitely notices when Pearl jumps suddenly, flipping Amethyst straight onto her back.

Amethyst’s squawk is ungainly -- “Hey! P, what the _heck_ \--”  -- and then she ellipses into silence, stunned by the intently focused look in Pearl’s eyes. They’re big and blue and beautiful and filled with an intensity she’s only ever seen when Pearl is devout about something: about Rose, about war, about dancing. It’s a bit chilling to suddenly think that it might be about _Amethyst_.

The chill arpeggiates its way down her spine electric and makes her shudder. Pearl takes this as the go-ahead; she moves in for a sweet kiss, soft and gentle against Amethyst’s chapped lips. It’s slow and heavy, and so is the one after it, and the one after that. Amethyst gradually relaxes from her sudden burst of nervous energy, feeling the groove of Pearl’s tender movements. Yeah. Yeah, this is good. She could get used to this.

But her patience doesn’t last forever. The tempo starts slow and _stays_ slow for far too long. Pearl plays Amethyst in a meandering adagio. She bites along her neck, gently; she laces her fingers through Amethyst’s voluminous hair, occasionally brushing against her skin in ways that make her skin ripple and goosebump with pleasure. She drags her lips across Amethyst's flesh, and those kisses start to linger and then trail downwards; the corner of her mouth, her neck, collarbone,  _gem_. The tension mounts, and light and heat begin to pour from the pair in waves, making the blankets lift and flutter in response. Energy sparks around the four-poster bed. Amethyst's skin prickles.

Down on her back, Amethyst is never sure what to do with her hands when she’s in this position. Pearl -- lanky, long, nearly twice her height -- is all arms and legs and elbows and knees, crouched over Amethyst, kissing deeply at one level and moving her hands at another and twisting her ankles around Amethyst’s feet and then sliding her legs downwards on the blankets’ surface. But Amethyst’s hands have nowhere to go. She clenches the fabric of Pearl’s sash, gets them caught up in the strands of her own hair; she brushes Pearl’s face briefly when it’s within reach, and the loving return glance is completely worth the awkwardness of her motions. She tries to figure out a way to get her hand  _lower_ somehow, to get underneath that sea-foam skirt and get some payback for Pearl's aggravatingly luxurious tempo.

Eventually, Pearl notices her hesitancy and takes action. Amethyst is surprised when the delicate Gem takes her slowly-descending hand, brings it back to her waist; keeps her other hand from wandering, clenching it with her own and stretching it up past her head, pinning her against the mattress. She can’t reach Pearl like this. Maybe that’s not today’s game. Pearl is tending to her with ( _agonizingly slow_ ) ministrations that make the mission clear. It’s endearing and embarrassing and she would tease Pearl about it more if she could think straight.

(Amethyst doesn’t do anything straight.)

“ _Fuck_ , P, quit teasing me,” Amethyst grumbles, growling into Pearl’s hair. Pearl responds with an absolute shit-eating grin, but at least she starts _moving_.

Amethyst’s hand is eventually released from being trapped above her head. Pearl reaches down, giving the hem of Amethyst's tunic a tug; gleefully she phases away her clothing and is pleasantly surprised when Pearl does the same. They’re skin-to-skin now, and Pearl’s body is warm and inviting. Her body is smooth, soft, and Amethyst can’t keep her hands to herself; she manages to sneak in a quick caress or two before Pearl firmly sets her hands down again against the firmness of the bed.

“Please, Amethyst. Let me do this for you,” Pearl murmurs into her gem, and it’s so earnest and endearing Amethyst can’t help but hum in agreement.

 

* * *

 

Amethyst’s hands are stocky, chubby, rough. She’s allowed them to become so over the years, taking on the toughness of life and building a protective shell over her skin, little nicks and cuts that end up making her stronger somehow. The humans do it all the time; she’s seen how rough Greg’s hands are from decades of strumming his guitar, and even little Steven’s hands are beginning to gain calluses. Her own fingers are short, strong, well-suited to her form. She doesn’t have to let her body change in this way, but it feels right. It feels like her.

Pearl’s fingers are the opposite, despite all of her swordplay: light, delicate, pale and slender. She knows all the right ways to place them on Amethyst. They’ve had thousands of years to figure it out. She has all the dexterity of a practiced musician and all the graceful power of a war machine. Her fingers are far too small and thin. When she slides one of them up into Amethyst, it’s barely more than a twinge, a flicker on the edge of her radar. 

It isn’t until Pearl adds another, and starts twisting and curling her fingers in just the right way that Amethyst’s hips suddenly buck without her permission, jolting her entire body with surprise that makes all her extremities tingle. Oh, that's  _good_ and she needs _more_.

She can’t help it; she greedily pushes down into Pearl’s hand and lets the rhythm take her. Pearl knows how she dances by now, though; once Amethyst sets the tempo it’s easy for Pearl to adjust the steps. Her fingers pulse and curl, her thumb makes maddening circles, and Amethyst's rolling hips follow the cadence, a glorious accelerando that fills her lungs with burning air and makes her hair slick with sweat. Her hands curl everywhere they can; into the sheets, into Pearl’s sides, underneath Pearl’s knees, _anything_ to get the other Gem as close as possible.

All the while, Pearl is chuckling; an incongruously light titter that shimmers in the air, resplendent and joyful. It drives Amethyst _wild_.

More, faster, _harder_. The heat is building within her core; the rhythm is pulsing in Amethyst’s ears, a deafening roar, and she scrunches her eyes closed tight since she can barely see anything by now anyways. She hardly notices when Pearl adds a third finger into the mix; all she feels is the wonderful, glorious electricity, the pounding pulse that echoes through her form, a sultry crescendo that demands all of her attention. She wants,  _needs_ more. She needs Pearl in her arms, pushed taut against her body. She needs Pearl, right  _there_ \-- 

There is just the briefest of pauses; a light accidental brushing of Pearl's gem by her temple, a gentle push against her hair, Pearl leaning down to whisper reverently in her ears:

“Oh, Amethyst, you’re so _beautiful_ \-- “

 

* * *

 

The comedown has always been hard. Amethyst feels hollow afterwards, abandoned, cold. Exhausted. When sound and light returns, the sweat is beading across her forehead, her hair is unpleasantly matted beneath her, and she feels painfully the loss of the hand between her legs. The soundless noise is gone and she feels too small, too loud.

But Pearl is still there, holding her; murmuring soft, comforting things into her neck that she can't quite make out but the words still resonate into the core of her being. Pearl's light voice and gentle tone is unmistakable, kind and loving; so are her arms, gradually easing Amethyst back down onto the support of the bed.

Warmth blossoms in Amethyst’s chest, and she wraps her thick arms around Pearl. This time, Pearl doesn’t move her hands away. The pale, ethereal Gem settles down against her, skin to skin, burying her face into Amethyst’s shoulder, held close. They breathe in tandem; in and out, a perfectly synchronized exchange. It feels like dancing, like fusion; like home. Bringing her back down to earth. _Grounded._

 

* * *

 


End file.
